


First Rise

by Omnibard



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 00:55:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard
Summary: (It's a bread-making metaphor, ya'll.  'First Rise' is the first resting period that lets the dough rise.  The entire process is known as 'fermentation'.  These fun baking facts are brought to you today because FERMENTATION MEANS RISK OF SPOILAGE.) [Ha ha, I'm so clever with my titles... help... ;~;]This is a collection of asks from my tumblr, teasers, and scenes I've written for any of my main WIPs:- Cathedral of You (CoY)- Dragons, Princesses, and other Classic Fairytales (merc!verse)- Games and Suits (G&S)I wanted a place to store these snippets until they get plugged into their proper places in the fic/series...  Also, in case people want to see stuff and don't mind seeing it out of order or more than once...It's basically a storage shed for pieces that haven't been cobbled together into the whole yet.For those of you who follow me and care about this kind of thing: BEWARE THERE ARE PROBABLY SPOILERS AHEAD!!





	1. (CoY) Ardyn Meets Ferrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This tumblr ask!](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/post/172326240664/hi-hmmm-im-a-predictable-person-so-perhaps)

Ultimatums given, over-stuffed Lucian lords and ladies properly rattled, Ardyn Izunia thought overall it was turning out to be a fine day.  He was seeing himself out—ignoring the looks of the various suits as he went, the occasional grin-and-wave notwithstanding—when his eyes caught fluid movement and trailing red hair.

One of the most beautiful, graceful creatures he’d ever seen was advancing down the reception hall toward him.  It was enough to make the Chancellor stop to watch, but never did his thinking stop. Never once.

The other redhead was accustomed to the staring, it seemed, for he was unruffled under the gaze of nearly everyone in the reception area of the Citadel.  He continued past Ardyn, acknowledging his existence with a very minute dip of his sculpted chin, and then on toward the double-doors leading to the throne room.  Turning, Ardyn meant to stop him, but the bodyguard was there—the militant with the disapproving face and the tension in his hands—the one who had followed him out.

“Lord Trahaearn,” He was saying quietly, “you must excuse me, but the court has been closed.  His Majesty will call for an audience at another time.”

‘Lord Trahaearn’ considered the man impassively, and for a moment, Ardyn was convinced that he would step _around_ him—was looking forward to seeing it, in fact!—but instead he intoned, “I am quite at His Majesty’s disposal, of course, but I must own that this is very unusual.  Surely something must have _happened_ to remove my audience from the schedule, considering the _significant_ difficulty in arranging it…”

His voice was as beautiful as his form, baritone and musical, rolling with masterful control so as to convey gravity without drawing attention.  If Ardyn hadn’t been keenly paying attention, he would not have understood a word.  His accent, too, was familiar in old, old memories, and the Chancellor of Niflheim no longer had a single doubt left as to whether he ought to approach.

Meanwhile, the bodyguard seemed to struggle to find an appropriate reply—Lord Trahaearn was far from his equal in discourse, and the beauty and grace of his delivery seemed to have him completely disarmed.  “Yes… I… apologize…  Regis—His Majesty _does_ … want to speak with you, but… something has—Chancellor—“

“/ _Good afternoon!/_ ” Ardyn knew he was mangling the beautiful, delicate sounds of the alien tongue, but he also knew it didn’t really matter.

Lord Trahaearn returned the greeting fluently, his mother-tongue dancing like magic and music, and for just a moment, Ardyn could feel the sunlight and smell the sweet air of a land faraway…

“You speak _Auryl Tongue_ ,” The foreign lord observed, “I was told no one here had ever heard it.”

“Only very little, and from long ago,” Was the heartfelt confession while the bodyguard stared with steadily narrowing eyes and clenching jaw, “I must say it is such a _surprise_ to see a Seraphagien lord here in Lucis. Why, I thought your people never left the blessed land of Aisaure!”

“It is very rare,” Lord Trahaearn acceded, a small expression that was carefully bemused and businesslike all at once settling over his sculpted mouth, “but a request was made, and—“

“—Lord Trahaearn, I must insist—“ The bodyguard’s tone sharpened carefully, enough to be _urgent_ but not enough to be _harsh_.  The Seraphagien raised a hand, cutting him off, and his olive green eyes met the steel in the Lucian’s unflinchingly.

“—I understand the sensitivity of my purpose here, Marshal, thank you.  I will await the pleasure and convenience of your king, but I am certain you have other duties outside of attending _me_.  Pray do not do me too much honor in neglecting them for my sake.”

An elegant, almost _gracious_ dismissal, Ardyn thought.  Perfectly Aisaurian.  He was so happy he almost managed to show it.  Instead, he offered Lord Trahaearn his arm, and when it was accepted, he led him back toward the entrance of the Citadel.

The bodyguard did not follow, but Ardyn could feel him glaring holes into their backs.

“My lord, have you had the coffee here?  You simply _must_ do me the honor of taking you to this little place just on the other side of the plaza…”

“I do not often take respite with men with whom I have not been introduced.” The Seraphagien replied wryly, “Particularly when it seems they have stirred up the court with whom my nation is striving to form an alliance.”

“Ah,” And it pained him, deep inside, to learn that Lucis would do this—would take the last bit of goodness and light in the world, and hold it out for him, to dare him to destroy it in his quest for vengeance.  But Ardyn had grown accustomed to smiling through heart-sickness, and so he smiled, “Forgive me, I’ve been so terribly rude!  Ardyn Izunia, Chancellor of Niflheim, at your humblest service.”

“Ferriferous et Sextus Trahaearn, Steward of Seras-Colleur, representing the Blessed Scion-Imperius of Aisaure.  It is a pleasure, Lord Izunia, but I’m afraid I cannot be at your service.  You appear to be the hated enemy of my hopeful ally.”

“Well now,” Ardyn beamed, “it is my joy to inform you, Lord Trahaearn, that I have _just come_ from His Majesty’s presence delivering an offer of peace!”

Surprise was always so _interesting_ to see on the graceful features of Seraphagien, and Ferriferous met his eyes at last, reading him astutely.  Ardyn was thrilled to meet such a man, a _thinking man_ , an _observant man_.  And Seraphagien, from blessed Aisaure!

It was perhaps one of the greatest days of his long long life.

“… Coffee, you said? I’m afraid I’ve never the pleasure, My Lord Chancellor.  Will you do me the honor?”

“But of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got questions? Want to talk about it? [Here's your mic! ](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/ask)


	2. (CoY) Ariel and Drautos Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This tumblr post!](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/post/172329436794/prompt-commander-drautos-and-general-glauca-are)

Ariel stands on the other side of the barrier magic, and quietly watches the man in the cell.  She watches him sit and purposefully not look at her—not deign to acknowledge her arrival—and listens to his bile black hate, distilled over years, perfected by the atrocities of a life shaped by war.

It occurs to her that the two of them know exactly what the other is, and are silently trying to ply their strengths against the others’ weaknesses.  He knows she can hear his thoughts, but he also knows that she can hear his hatred, and that if he focuses enough on it, that is all she’ll be able to hear.

But she knows that he might do such a thing, and so she can try and tune out the useless noise.

She stands there, and allows him to froth his hatred, ignoring it, and hearing the other voice. The not-Titus-Drautos-voice.   _Glauca’s_ voice.

“…Little girl.” Titus grates his disregard.

 _Little monster-bitch._ His thoughts hiss.

 _Little sister-same._ The eldritch, sharp-tongued, many-toothed voice of Glauca purrs, and she must resist the shudder—Drautos is too sharp-eyed to miss it.  She could not show any weakness here.

He probably already knew how much he frightened her, even before he was revealed as a traitor.

“You are wasting your time here,” He tells her, “trying to get secrets or confessions out of a dead man.”

“His Majesty has not passed judgement.” Ariel replies coolly.

“Regis will answer to the council’s demands because it will be _easy_ , and the son-of-a-bitch likes easy answers.”

“He might,” She shrugs, “but he hasn’t yet.  I already know you did not kill Queen Sylva.”

“It doesn’t _matter_ what you think you know!”

But his focus splinters, and he worries, deep inside, that she _does_ know, and that she can use it—a sharp dagger against him.   _Somehow_.

 _I killed the Oracle~_ The Taint of Glauca that lingers in Drautos’s mind, a leftover stain of alien malice, of hate deeper and purer than even the poison Titus could bleed from his own tortured soul, whispers gleefully.  _I glutted on her hope, and on her despair. It was so sweet~_

Ariel breathes, steadying herself, but she can feel the horrid breathing down her neck.  From _the inside_. “I can inform His Majesty that you were acting under outside influence. Behaving under… duress.”

He laughs at her, harsh and hateful, and he climbs to his feet.  He’s a big man, _such a big man_ , and the barrier magic does not matter.  Cor down the hall, alert for any unwarranted sound does not matter.

Titus Drautos is a big man, and he despises her with all the power of his conscious thought.  It inundates her, a tidal wave of disgust and rage, threatening to drown her and choke her with fear.

The taint of Glauca laughs, and it is the intimate snickering of a lover in her ear, and it _sickens her_ , clenching her guts in knots.

“Call for him.” Drautos orders; taunting, smug, “Call the Marshal.  At least he’ll do the necessary thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got questions? Want to talk about it? [Here's your mic! ](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
